i want a village

but i need to learn to be a villager first

sold-LP-Power of the Lips (Power of Bibir) by Stefan Buana

I keep saying I want a village.

I want people who check in, who remember my birthday, who show up without being asked.
I want warmth. Familiarity. Laughter spilling from someone else’s kitchen.
I want “I made extra” and “Call me when you get home.”
I want shared burdens and soft landings. I want to belong somewhere that doesn’t vanish the moment I close my door.

But if I’m being honest with you, I’ve had to ask myself a hard question lately:

Do I know how to be a villager?

It’s easy to want the village. It’s harder to build it.
It’s harder to show up, to stay connected, to offer what I’m so desperate to receive.
It’s harder to be consistent, especially when I’m tired or anxious or lost in my own world.

I realized recently that I’ve romanticized community.
I pictured it as this natural, effortless thing that just forms around you when you’re a good person with a kind heart.
But that’s not how it works.
The kind of closeness I crave doesn’t come from hoping—it comes from offering.
From doing the invisible work. The follow-ups. The small gestures. The uncomfortable truths.

I’ve had moments where I felt completely alone, and yes, some of that was real
People get busy. Life pulls us in different directions.
But some of it was me.
Me, retreating. Me, not reaching out. Me, thinking someone else should go first.

I’ve wanted to be held, but I haven’t always been willing to hold.
I’ve wanted to be checked on, but I haven’t always done the checking.
And that stings to admit, because it’s so much easier to say “no one showed up for me” than to ask, “Did I show up for anyone?”

I think sometimes we confuse longing with readiness.
I long for community, but am I ready to be seen in my mess?
Am I ready to show up on someone else’s hard day, even if mine isn’t perfect either?
Am I ready to commit to the boring, beautiful, everyday parts of connection?

Because a village isn’t made up of grand gestures.
It’s made up of people who stay. Who remember. Who try.

So I’m learning. Slowly.

I’m learning to reach out first.
To remember birthdays.
To respond to the group chat even when I don’t know what to say.
To be honest when I’m struggling, instead of disappearing.
To invite people over, even if my house isn’t spotless or my mood isn’t shiny.
To let people see me—quiet, tired, inconsistent sometimes—but trying.

And I’m telling you this not because I’ve figured it all out.
I’m telling you this because maybe you want a village too.
Maybe you’ve been waiting for people to show up in ways you haven’t known how to show up yourself.

If that’s you, I get it. Really.
And I think the first step is admitting what we want, and then asking:
Am I willing to give that, too?

Because the village we long for is possible.
But it won’t just happen.
We have to be part of it. We have to be brave enough to help build it.

Even if it starts with just one message.
One check-in.
One hangout, even when you don’t want to leave your house.

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